Credits

Plot Information for Askavi Terreille

For nearly two centuries Askavi floundered, brought low in the wake of the Red Queen’s war. The institution of one court with its Two Queens and the end of restitution payments promises a brighter future. Still, War knocks on the Eyrien’s door from all sides and the people fight against the need to meet it.

Celebrian Eodan was not known for her patience. In fact outside of teaching, which she did still hold a deep passion for, she generally was considered to have no patience at all. When her temper was spiked, these two pieces of her entwined around the Priestess to make her tongue sharp and her judgement absolute and unquestioned.

Most had stayed out of her way for the last several days, not wanting to offer her a target for her anger. She had gone about her duties, albeit with more force than she might otherwise, and spent the nights convincing herself that she did not need to go to the Blood Seeker encampment to see him. Kaderian was there, and Cele knew that the Tiger Eye Healer would watch over him as long as he was there. She would not interfere. The War Camps were not her home anymore. The Court was.

Perhaps if she repeated it to herself often enough, she would start to believe it.

Three days. THREE DAYS. That was how long it had been since she had stood above his body in the Court's infirmary. So still, so silent while he lay unconscious through the Healing sleep. Cassian had been able to fight off the poison that had been intended to strip him away from this Realm and send him to the next. Cele had stayed as long as she dared, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest while he slept. It brought back memories that she did not want to look at, not on a day he had come so close to death. She left before he awoke, unsure of her welcome and not wanting to do anything that would impact his healing.

How dare he be so reckless. He was a seasoned warrior. For someone to be able to just approach him with such an attack was unthinkable. This Court was no less a battleground than anywhere else he ever fought and he had treated it like the safety of home in Living Lake. She had spent the last three days in a hell of memories from after the Purge when he had been broken of his Red Jewel and nearly died. At least that was not his fault. He couldn't have prevented that. This however was an entirely different matter.

But then this morning she had heard he was here, in Gravesend. And not here to see Cassian, or even to spend time with his Queen. The last she could at least understand being a little awkward. I killed your husband and then almost died because someone sought vengeance for his death, was not necessarily the best way to improve their tumultuous bond. But the fact that he was here to WORK as opposed to resting and healing like he should be was the tipping point.

She left the altar she had been tending that morning and made her went straight for his office. Well, as straight as she could. The labyrinthine hallways of the Queen's Eyrie did not make any place within easily accessible, especially when it was so newly her home. By the time she actually reached his door, her eyes were blazing, golden fire against black pupils. Her green gown billowed behind her with the speed of her steps.

Vannevar was standing guard outside the door. No doubt he knew why she was here even without the fury written across her face. The history between the High Priestess and the Warlord Prince of Askavi was well known to the Blood Seekers. "Lady Eodan, thank Mother Night. Perhaps you can speak sense to him."

"I can certainly try," she snarled. He was clearly not the focus of her anger, likely much to his relief, and he opened the door for her before closing it behind her. Her voice cracked like a whip around the room as soon as she stood within his office. "Drakkar Estaroth, why in the Mother's name are you here, out of bed and not resting like one should be after someone attempts to assassinate them?"

Drakkar Estaroth had zero words for just how much he despised paperwork.

In truth, he had several very choice words, words that did not have a place in the halls of a Court. Words that he would have used, if he wasn’t attempting t polish his appearance just a touch so that he didn’t frighten all of the sheep here in Gravesend. Sheep with blunt teeth that couldn’t even murder a person properly. Vannevar had told him to consider himself fortunate that they were so inept that the art of murder, otherwise they’d be talking about him in the past tense. Drakkar did not care, however, if the so-called warriors of Gravesend heard him. He didn't even care if his Queen heard his rage.

Still, he did not start in because his ribs hurt like hell and this was the only place in Gravesend that most people feared (or refused) to tread: his office. Vannervar would stand guard and send away anyone without an appointment or anyone who appeared interested in starting trouble. They’d have fifty more warriors here tomorrow to supplement the Guard, as Prince Renvar was busy otherwise.

Drakkar leaned back in his chair, nearly ready to dose off in the one place in Gravesend that was his…

“I can certainly try.”

That voice.

Drakkar’s wings twitched.

She was the second-to-last person he expected to come here and see him. For one moment, Drakkar asked himself why she bothered to show up now, of all times, before reality sunk in. He recognized that Celebrian was only here, in Gravesend, because he’d brought her in as High Priestess of Askavi. He trusted no one else in Gravesend, not even his Queen. He needed people on his side and he’d chosen her for a tangled mass of reasons that he refused to examine too closely. If he did, those memories would slide into the broken spaces of his heart the way that knife had parted his skin and slid between his ribs.

The pain would spread through his limbs with poison.

Celebrian invaded his space, his space, and demanded to know why he wasn’t resting. If she stopped to consider it, the room was freezing already. Drakkar’s eyes settled on hers, but the veiled lust he felt for her wasn’t present. She was an interloper in his Territory. Even his diminished state, Drakkar was still a Warlord Prince. He would be treated like one.

“Good morning, High Priestess. I’m well. I’m here, working, because that is my duty as the Warlord Prince of Askavi.” Drakkar said, learning forward to rest his elbows on the table. The position was absolute hell on his ribs, but he wouldn’t show weakness to anyone. Especially her.

“I’m working because I want the milquetoast and mealy-mouthed males of Gravesend to see how a man operates. I want them to know that their attempts to stop me, to silence me, have failed. Most of all, I want them to know that I’m going to kill every last one of them for their defiance, Lady Eodan.

“Now, I don’t see you on my list of appointments for the day. Is there something I can help you with?” he asked, his voice clipped. He was clearly suffering, but she knew him well enough to know that Drakkar Estaroth did not slow down, stop, or rest for anyone. He did not show weakness.

"Yes. You can help me understand what you are thinking, because it is clearly not sense." Her hands rested on her hips, a pose he would recognize as one she only took when she was truly upset about something. The High Priestess recognized the feel of cold that wrapped around her, deepening with her anger. She would know it as his no matter how long they were apart. Opal chill with the echoes of a lost Red. She had stood within it before and she would do so again.

"You have always been stubborn, Prince, but this goes beyond the pale. Even Vannevar is worried about you. And I do not believe for a moment that Kaderian sanctioned you returning to work so soon." Cele and the Kade had often been the only two females in a War Camp of hundreds of Eyrien warriors. While their sharp words and constant snark with each other could lead others to believe that they did not like each other, the truth was it was simply how they navigated their relationship. Both respected the other for the services they provided, and for the risk it took to simply exist in within the boundaries of the Blood Seekers encampment, let alone the work they did.

"Your duty, as far as I am aware, is to stay alive so that you can in fact continue to be the Warlord Prince of Askavi. It is not weakness to heal your body, but it is foolishness to return to the battleground before you are ready!" The temperature dropped further still and ice began to spread across the walls, the ceiling, even settle on the tips of her wings. Celebrian flared her wings for a moment to cause blood to flow through them and warm them before snapping them back into place.

"Freezing me is not going to cause me to change my stance, Prince. You risk too much," she said quietly. She turned her back on him then, a true sign of the trust that existed between them, despite everything that had happened between them. Perhaps because of everything that had happened between them.

When she turned around, her expression had shifted. The anger had been pulled away and what was beneath, the core of her, shone back at him. "Hell's Fire, Drakkar. You scared me! You don't get to scare me."

She was upset. She always put her hand on her hip when she was upset. Even when she was round with child and stress was bad for her and Valar, Celebraian Eodan was not shy about sharing her anger or disappointment with him. Whether it was his attentiveness (which she called hovering) or the actions of some Priestess who’d attempted to upstage her, Celebrian was not one to hide her feelings. And yet her anger stoked his own. His pain did not vanish, but it dulled considerably as she started to lecture him, in his own fucking office, of what was required to be the Warlord Prince of Askavi.

“Kaderian does not command me.” Drakkar said, his tone cool.

“Dying isn’t on my list today, either. I have too much to do to just lie down and die. That’s what separates me from the weak males of Gravesend. A knife wound would be a life-altering injury to them. This is a Tuesday afternoon in sparring for me.” Drakkar said, thinking of Dena Nehele for the briefest of moments. He hadn’t been there in centuries. He remembered it being somewhat clean, but close to falling into disrepair.

“The bastard who did it used poison, though. Poison, Celebrian. Someone wanted me dead, but not badly enough to teach their catspaw how to properly kill a man. It doesn’t matter, though. I’m going to hunt down the coward who attacked me, figure out who put him up to it, then I’m going skin them both and mount them over my throne.” Drakkar said.

“For now, this is as close to resting as a I get.” he growled.

She said that he’d scared her and he couldn’t stop himself. Later, he’d recognize the pettiness, the cruelty of return especially when she’d admitted her fear to him.

“Well, I could just ask you to come and see me. My life is only worth something to you when you think it’s about to end.” Drakkar said.

Perhaps it was the pain. Maybe it was the pain and his lack of sleep. Maybe it was another wound, ripped open anew in her presence. It didn’t matter. He’d said it and now he would live with her response. She had a good chance of killing him right now, if she didn’t hold back.

Despite his earlier words, death would be a welcome change from living in a place where people, including his bonded Queen, despised him enough to end his life.

“I think you should go, Lady Eodan. I’m not dead. Vannevar will see to that.”

It wasn't worth arguing over Kaderian. They both knew the power a Healer in a War Camp had and Kaderian was not just any Healer. She was the Healer of the Blood Seekers, tougher, harder, more fierce than nearly any Healer Celebrian had ever met. And more than that, Cele knew she cared about Drakkar, had cared about him for a long time. He might not be able to care back, and Cele was likely part of what caused him to be broken of such an ability. But that did not mean he did not respect her. No, he had given her something to do, something to occupy her time and would take her anger when he returned to the camp next, just like he was being forced to deal with Cele's now.

She would pay a great sum to see that with how arrogant and foolish he was acting in this moment.

But it was the moment she let her guard down, just a little, just enough to offer the truth of her anger, that he struck with the might and callousness of a warrior, wounding her as deeply as if he had slid a knife between her ribs and lodged it in her heart in truth. Once, she had been able to offer him such vulnerability, telling him what she feared and why her anger was as searing as it was. Clearly that was no longer an option between them.

Celebrian went very still. Not even her wings shifted as she stared at him, as he dismissed her after such a wound was laid, remaining formal in his address and his distance. The fury within her that had been brought to simmer in her effort to share a confidence roared to life again, a forge with which to craft the weapons she would need to fight the man who had once been very nearly her entire world.

When she moved, it was with speed enough for her gown to flow behind her again. He rose to his feet and growled at her as she invaded his personal space without leave or even the appearance of permission. Ruled by instinct, pain, and rejection, her hand raised and she struck out, slapping him hard across the face. Drakkar's hand moved just as fast. The Warlord Prince of Askavi grabbed her by the throat, his fingers sinking into the soft skin of her neck before turning and slamming her into the wall behind him.

"You can question a lot of things, but the value I hold for your life is not one of them," she hissed quietly, struggling around each word. She took a gasping breath, shaking with anger and something long ago forgotten brought back to life. Her eyes flashed like pools of liquid fire. This was the Drakkar she remembered.

At his full strength, Celebrian’s attack would have landed her in a position where Drakkar would have more decisively asserted his dominance over her. In this moment, however, Drakkar Estaroth was vulnerable. To his credit, he’d managed to react after she’d slapped the taste out of his mouth. She was inside his guard, however, close enough to leap atop him and batter him to death with her Sapphire. Close enough to humiliate him in a way that only they would know, but that he would never, ever forget.

Close enough to drive another blade into his heart, the way she always did.

He grasped her throat and slammed her against the wall, cold fury lending strength to his limbs. Membranous black wings flared outward to their full length, shading them both from the sunlight that peaked into his office. Drakkar’s eyes blazed, same as hers, as he stared her down.

“I question what I do not know, Celebrian. If I question something you take as fact, ponder that.” Drakkar snarled, his voice going deadly quiet, rather than booming loud enough to draw warriors toward his door. Vannevar might be able to stop them from getting in, but then he might not. Vannevar had already angered him once today by letting Celebrian see him like this.

His wound throbbed. Pain burned along his ribcage and Drakkar winced before releasing his grip on Celebrian’s throat. He took one step back, then a second, and dropped heavily into his chair. He released a sigh of relief that could easily be confused for fatigue and let the comfort of the chair suffuse his limbs.

He hadn’t known where the chair was when he sat back. Mother Night had seen fit to leave him some dignity today.

“I spoke harshly.” Drakkar said, his expression pinched. “You did not deserve it, Celebrian. We both...have suffered losses. Deep losses that no one should ever know. There is no reason for us to be at war.

Drakkar slammed her against the wall and her wings ached at the impact. She knew how to manage the resulting pain. She had felt it before. His wings blocked out the light. She had always loved seeing him this way, but something was wrong. He was injured, and despite the words that he offered that cut her again to the core, he released her and stumbled backwards into his chair. Her eyebrows drew together in concern.

Celebrian remained still, wings pressed against the wall as he acknowledged she didn’t deserve the harshness of his words. It was the closest thing to an apology she would receive from the Warlord Prince of Askavi, and she gave a small nod of her head in acknowledgement. ”I do not want to be at war with you, either,” she said when he finished.

She closed the space between them slowly, offering as little threat as she could. He was gravely wounded, the exhaustion and pain clear just looking at him. Celebrian didn’t need centuries of working in the War Camps to recognize the toll pain and healing took on a warrior’s body. When she reached his chair, she slowly lowered herself to her knees, her wings flaring slightly before curving and tucking back into her body to allow the position. She held his gaze for a moment before leaning toward him and resting her head against his knee.

It was an old position, familiar, one she would take when he was working and she wanted to be near him, or when she knelt in communion to the Darkness. There was nothing demanding in it, other than the unspoken request he allow the gentle touch and not shove her away from him. She could have stormed from the room or left in peace, but left all the same. They no longer sought each other out when making up from fights. Ever since she had returned to his life, one or the other had turned and fled.

He had almost died. She would not flee now. They needed to find a new way of making up if they refused the old. And fuming in their own corners wasn’t working. Not if he held no faith in her, his words still stinging a raw and aching heart.

“Do you truly question my care for your life and well being?” It was a dangerous thing to ask. Already once she had offered him her fear and vulnerability and he had thrown them back at her cruelly, striking where he knew he could wound her, where her belly was soft and not covered in hardened armour necessary to survive life in their homeland.

“You are all I have left of him, Drakkar. No matter what happens between us, that will always be true.” Her words were quiet, whispers offered into the air that surrounded them. There was so much more she could say. She could apologize for giving him cause to believe otherwise, or for striking him. But silence had often carried words between them that they did not speak out loud, words of love and devotion often left to mere breath felt against the others skin. She didn't know how else to be.

Years ago, this moment would have been a prelude to the best fuck of his life. Celebrian knew how to get to him. Years after they’d suffered such a crushing loss, Drakkar still found himself drawn to her. He let her go, though, because the effort it took to control his rage combined with the effort needed to dull the ache in his ribs was too much. Sitting in the chair, looking up at her, Drakkar’s anger was spent. Someone had tried to assassinate him just days ago. He’d been ready to die, if it was his time. He missed Carian. He missed Xaian and Valar.

Celebrian knelt before him and Drakkar did not push her away. He couldn’t keep her from seeing him like this, but he hated it all the same.

“You have your own life, Celebrian. What we shared happened years ago.” Drakkar said, after a moment of consideration. There was no accusation or heat in his voice, just a statement of fact. She wasn’t required to give a damn about him any longer, same as he was no longer required to care for her. It didn’t stop him from doing so, but he didn’t expect those feelings returned.

“I was ready to go to them, Celebrian. I was ready to go Valar and Xanian.” Drakkar said softly, looking into her eyes for the first time. The pain in his ribs was fierce. He looked down and saw a crimson stain against his bandages. Lady Ankhara would not be happy with him if he didn’t take care of himself. Still, it felt good just to talk to someone in this place that wasn’t Vannevar. His second-in-command was a good, honorable man. But they did not deal in feelings or emotions for good reason.

“I saw them. I dreamed about them when I was dying.” he said. It was mostly true.

Celebrian didn't need to know that he always dreamed about their son and his daughter. About the people they'd be today if fate and Mother Night hadn't stolen them away for his sins.

“I wanted him to join the Blood Seekers. I had this dream that he and I fight side by side on the battlefield. Prince Andros wanted that for Tavar, when he was younger. He made sure that the instructors were twice as hard on Tavar. Said it would make him heartier. That he’d learn strength of mind and body. That way, when he became the leader of the Blood Seekers...he’d understand how to lead his men through good times and bad.” Drakkar said.

He coughed twice.

“I shouldn’t even be here right now, Celebrian. This was Tavar’s life. Now I’m trapped in this place with a Queen that despises me. Not that she shouldn’t. I killed her husband. And the worst part is…I’m not even sorry about it.

Drakkar didn't shove her away. Silently, in a place in her heart she didn't think she would ever be able to share with him again, a tiny hope flared to life. Even after his harsh words, his intent to wound her in a way no one else was able, there still burned the smallest spark that things between them could be... well. Not this. More. It didn't seem possible that they could return to what they were, even if the moment he had slammed her to the wall and flared his wings had left her gasping for reasons that had nothing at all to do with his fingers pressed into her throat. Too many memories pulled at her mind and her desires. This was the closest they had allowed the other to get, and he was gravely wounded.

Was this really what it took? Was he right at least in that only when he faced death was she willing to let him see that she still cared?

She wanted to argue with him about having a life of her now (a life he had granted her, asked her to fulfill), that what happened between them happened so long ago (it was a breath, two at most), but the words died on her tongue. He seemed like he would say more, and she knew too well the pregnant silence of a warrior who needed to speak things that could not be spoken to another, that needed a feminine ear to hear and absorb, better still if it be someone they could trust. How many times had she been exactly that in the War Camps? And even still, it was different more between these two. The Warlord Prince of Askavi and her High Priestess sharing a history that bound them tighter than anything else could.

And so she listened as he spoke of dreaming of their son, Valar, and his beautiful daughter, Xanian. He told her he missed them and she wanted to reach for his hand, the movement somehow stifled part way through as she rested it instead on his knee, as if to rest her chin on it from where she looked up at him. And then he spoke of their son growing strong and fierce, the warrior son Drakkar was always meant to have. Golden pools shimmered with unshed grief, a deep sadness that caused her throat to ache with tears she refused to shed. Just as he did not want her to see him in this state, no matter how foolish of him, she too had lines she did not want to cross for fear of what might lie for them on the other side.

"I miss them, too," she said simply. She would never know the loss amplified of not just their son but also his daughter, and his wife, but she had known them, and loved them, although barely a shadow of his own love for the women who came before. His words about his Queen made her ache for him. She wouldn't offer platitudes that the Darkness always had a way, or that the Mother knew best. While she was deeply spiritual and devout beyond measure, they had both felt too much loss and heartache to believe such simple sentiments. The truth was much more complicated, and not something that could easily be seen or understood, even by a Sapphire Jeweled Priestess.

"Does she know? Have you told her that her decision cost them their lives? She cannot undo what she did anymore than you can undo killing Eristovar. But is there no path for peace between you?" She let her hair fall to the side of her face as she spoke, unaware of its movements, aware in that moment only of him, and the warmth of his knee beneath her hand, even through his pants, of her desire to press her palm against the wound that darkened his bandages to ease the bleeding. For that moment, he was her entire world, an echo of what they had once known, as the Priestess sought to ease the weight that rested so terribly heavy on her ruler's shoulders, as the woman tried to ease the heartache of the warrior she still, in the darkest places of her soul, loved more than she would ever admit to either of them.

When Celebrian confirmed that she missed Xanian and Valar, it lessened the ever-present grief in his heart. It was easy, sometimes, to believe that he was the only person who still remembered either of them, that he was the only person who still cared that they’d been in this world once upon a time. The family that he’d made for himself, Carian and Xanian, were gone and nothing could bring them back. If Askavi did not need him so badly, if his men did not count on his leadership, Drakkar might have started a farm and withdrawn from the world altogether.

He never talked about this with Kaderian. She’d lost family of her own and did not deserved to be burdened with his woes.

Celebrian’s presence was both balm and bane, scraping raw the reopened wound of Valar’s death while helping him recognize that someone else who loved him hurt for the empty space his passing left their lives. Celebrian knelt before him, as she had many times in the past, and simply watched him. Drakkar recognized, even now, that he’d made a mistake in letting her walk away from him. Drowning in his grief, he’d neglected to see hers. He let her leave Askavi with her own bleeding wounds. Instead of heal, those wounds festered, and now it took anger and recrimination just to get her into the same room with him.

He’d asked her to be High Priestess of Askavi on whim, just to keep her close. He’d expected her to refuse him. When she said yes, it had been sweet agony knowing that he would see her daily but that he would never have her again, not the way he wanted.

“Telling her won’t bring them back, Celebrian. It’ll just put yet another blockade between us. My family died because of her choices. I killed Eristovar. We will never forgive each other and we will tear each other to bloody pieces while Askavi dies by degrees.

What peace can we find in that? If I give away my anger, she wins. If I don’t...I lose.” he said, shrugging his shoulders.

Drakkar reached out, pushing a lock of hair away from her face. His fingertips brushed her cheek and his gaze upon her turned sharp and hungry, despite the throbbing in his side. He sat forward, forcing her to lean back as he met her gaze. Powerful hands grasped her shoulders and pulled her toward him, his lips meeting hers for the first time in thirty years.

Celebrian's heart ached for him as he spoke of his Queen. She would never have wished this for him. No matter how complicated it was for her that the Darkness had bound him to a Queen in a way she would never be close to him, she didn't want him to feel even more conflict and aching sadness than he already did. Perhaps if they were not Eyrien there would be room for a third option, one that did not involve only winning and losing. But they were. It was in their nature. It was who and what they were. There was no other way open than victory or defeat, even among their most treasured relationships.

When he reached forward to brush her hair from her face, his fingertips brushing her cheek in a way that was at once unexpected and so terribly familiar, her lips parted gently as her breath caught in her throat. For a moment, she questioned whether his gaze had really sharpened or if it was simply a memory glazing over her vision. He leaned forward, forcing her to raise up from his knee and lean back. It became clear that wasn't the movement he craved as his hands gripped her shoulders, pulling her back toward him. A small sound of surprise was lost against his lips. For a long moment, she did nothing but revel in the feeling of a kiss she hadn't known in decades.

*Yes.*

Permission she hadn't even realized she was about to ask for was suddenly granted. Her breasts rose and fell in a deep breath as her hands moved from his knees up his legs, sliding over his thighs. Fingers sank into the leather of his pants when she reached his hips, careful even in this moment to not brush against his wound. Gripping him with a matching firmness to how her gripped her, she kissed him with an aching need she had been unwilling to acknowledge until that moment. Whimpering against his mouth, she claimed his lips and tongue with her own. How could she have forgotten the feel of him? The taste of him on her tongue? Years fell away as she learned what it was to kiss him again, sparks that had never truly ceased to burn suddenly alight within her again.

Celebrian pressed her fingers harder against his hips before she released them and slid her hands toward his center. A sound of pure desire was moaned into his mouth when she brushed against him through the thick leather, already hardening beneath her touch. Whatever remaining hesitancy she might have had vanished in that moment as skilled fingers undid his pants, seeking to release him from his prison. She curled her hand around silken skin and stroked him in a long smooth movement before breaking the kiss and pushing him gently back into his seat. She lowered her body to his lap, holding his gaze as she did, before pressing her lips against his crown.

Drakkar groaned when Celebrian stroked him, a sharp hiss of breath that reminded him of the pain in his ribs. He sank into his Blood Opal and summoned a bit of Triage Craft to blunt the sharper edges of his pain. If he was going to die in his office today, Celebrian would at least tell the world that he’d risen to the occasion with his dying breaths. Drakkar let himself be pushed back into his chair as Celebrian lowered her head to press her lips against his crown.

She laid several kisses on his crown, grasping the shaft to make that mushroomed cap swell. Drakkar growled, watching her her hand moved in smooth, slow strokes. Night, he was hard as stone, harder than he believed he could be. He hadn’t fucked anyone in months, not with all the work on his plate and then nearly dying, to bonding with Illyrian. Unbidden, Drakkar thought about Illyrian’s hand wrapped around his cock, kissing him while her hand moved up and down between them. Drakkar growled once more, pushing Illyrian from his mind in an act of will.

When Celebrian took him into her mouth, Drakkar did cry out. He growled, hands reaching down to first in Celebrian’s hair. Her head bobbed on his cock, slowly at first, but she gathered speed as the memories flooded back. Memories of his ruts, where he’d nearly broken her jaw in his hunger to claim every orifice on her body. Memories of the their practice on the path to conceiving Valar. They’d been insatiable back then, unable to get enough of each other.

Had it only been thirty years since then? It felt like a lifetime ago and just yesterday in the same breath.

“Yesss...ngh...fuck, Celebrian. Better than I remembered…” Drakkar said, snarling as his crown first tapped and then hammered against the back of her throat.

“Play with your pussy, Celebrian…” he demanded, releasing her hair to grasp her right hand with his left. His right hand gripped the armrest of his chair. The wood groaned beneath his grasp, but held. She laced her fingers with his instinctively and Drakkar watched Celebrian fuck his cock with her mouth, his balls slapping against her chin.

It was as if no time had passed at all. Drakkar was right. She knew how to suck his cock. She'd known before they ever decided to have a child together and settled down to a happy home life filled with the tempers and sexual desires of two Dark Jeweled Eyriens. His ruts had seen her bruised and aching, content and satisfied that the leader of the Blood Seekers had navigated another rut with her skilled aid. They had also taught her about his body, what he liked, what he craved, what he would take from her when there was no restraint left within him to stop him, even if he nearly broke her bones in the act.

Still, she enjoyed drawing out the moment before plunging him into her mouth. When he cried out, she knew it had been worth it, her own arousal spiking at each sound he made. He was impossibly hard. She loved the feel of him against her tongue, quickly finding the rhythm that had his hands fisting even harder in her hair. It would be a lie to say the thought hadn't crossed her mind when she had knelt before him as she used to, but she hadn't actually expected it to come to pass. His growls sent shivers through her body and she hit the back of her throat with his cock, once, twice, then repeatedly.

He commanded her to touch herself and reached for one of her hands at the same time. Her fingers intertwined with his, gripping his hand hard as she tried to shift her position enough to enable her to free her skirt and reach between her legs while never losing the fierce rhythm with which she slammed Drakkar's cock into her throat. It took a moment to accomplish, but when she did, she moaned against his shaft as her fingers found her depths already surprisingly wet. Celebrian pushed her middle finger inside her body before withdrawing it coated in her fluids. Flaring her wings slightly and using her fingers linked in his for balance, she brought her fingers to his mouth, dampening his lips with the taste of her before seeking her own pleasure once again.

Sucking in deep breaths when she was able, she rocked against his cock and her hand both, mouth continuously working in hungry swallows, fingers pulling stronger moans from her throat to vibrate against him. She was lost to it. Memory crashed into the present as she desperately worked them both, unceasing, barely fighting for breath even, need overriding every other instinct. She no longer cared whether her efforts were further injuring him. The Priestess sought his release and her own as well, everything else be damned.

Drakkar licked Celebrian’s fingers, tasting her even as she deep-throated him for all she was worth. Those fingers were gone, pulled away from his lips all too soon. He wanted to sink himself into her cunt so deep that she’d wonder how she ever forgot how thoroughly she used to be his. His hips moved now, meeting her downward motion with thrusts of his own. The pain in his side grew sharper but Drakkar ignored it in the pursuit of pleasure. He wanted to cum hard in her mouth, wanted to feel himself fire violently down her throat until his balls were empty. If he spent himself on her face and breasts in the doing, Drakkar wouldn’t be sorry to see it.

He marked everything that belonged in him, eventually.

Celebrian’s hot, hungry mouth proved that she hadn’t forgotten how to please him. She hadn’t forgotten just what he needed. His groaned loudly, not giving a damn if Vannevar could hear them in the hallway. His hand grasped hers even tighter while they moved together in time to secure his release. Fucking the mouth of the woman who’d borne his son was nearly better than flying. His only regret was that they weren’t outside under some tree where he could drill himself into her until she screamed his name for all of Gravesend to hear.

She bid him to cum for her and, to his credit, Drakkar tried to resist.

He failed miserably.

His breathing hitched. A guttural sound, one part moan and one part growl, escaped his lips. He fired hard down Celebrian’s throat and that sensation warred with a new one located in his side. Something pulled tight and then tore, but Drakkar didn’t given a damn right then. He rode his orgasm to the bitter end, his hips still thrusting even after the euphoria tapered off and Celebrian devoured everything he gave her.

And then he was left with the pain.

He looked down at Celebrian, eyes lidded as she licked him clean and tended to him. In his peripheral, however, Drakkar noticed something odd.

The crimson stain in his bandages was spreading.

Oh. That’s what that was.

He sighed and bid Celebrian to cease, though he didn’t want to. He wanted to harden for her again, then bend her over the desk and ensure that she was happy with her position at Gravesend.

Unfortunately, his body betrayed him by wanting to cease all functions due to blood loss. Long ago, a little blood loss during an act like this just heightened the fun. He suspected that Celebrian would not take kindly to having it known that she’d sucked the Warlord Prince of Askavi to death.

“I...may need your help getting to my room. I need to change this bandage, apply some salve...and maybe help me redo the stitches. Do you remember how Kaderian did them for this one?” he asked, pointing to a long, nasty scar that ran from the top of his left pectoral to the top of his ribcage. Celebrian would remember the cut that had laid him open during a training exercise. Both she and Kaderian had been unhappy at his risk-taking, but Drakkar had simply asked her to sew him up and deal with the skin mending later.

With a hard thrust and deep growling moan, he gave her what she asked for. Eyes sliding closed while she drank him down, Celebrian focused on the taste of him and the way he hardened impossibly against her tongue. Never releasing his hand, she slowly let him slide from her lips before licking over the length of him, her tongue cleaning his cock as much by instinct as memory. She felt him shift, felt his free hand move to raise her from his lap and she opened her eyes to look at him confused.

Confusion melted quickly into guilt as her mind registered the crimson spreading over his bandages. Her forehead creased with concern. She raised her hand and pressed against the wound, knowing it would likely cause him to wince and uncaring of where her fingers had been moments before. Centuries in the War Camps had taught her more than she cared to know of wound care. Nodding to his question about whether she would help him to his room and restitch the wound, she bared her teeth when he pointed to the long scar that trailed down his chest.

"Oh, I remember." Her eyes flashed with the familiar annoyance of a woman forced to deal with a stubborn Eyrien Warrior determined to see his skin laced with as many scars as possible, even when simply training. The other taking unnecessary risks to their health or safety was perhaps what Celebrian and Drakkar had fought about the most out of everything. Their love of the other driving them to scream their frustration and take out their fear physically on the other until he was once again buried deep within her. It was a pattern they were all too familiar with.

That same fear caused the small hairs along Celebrian's arms to stand on end as she watched the sanguine circle spread. His comment about how good she felt caused her eyes to soften. She leaned forward, brushing her lips softly against his, before pressing her forehead to his, lightly. "Heal and I can remind you as much as you like."

Rising to her feet, she released the hand that gripped his so she could slide her arm around his back as she ducked under his own arm, and helped hoist him to his feet. Not only was he taller than her, Drakkar was solid muscle. She pulled on her Sapphire to reinforce her strength as she tried to steady him. The shift in position caused the wound to split more, fresh blood welling against her fingers where she pressed against it.

She managed to get him to the door and used Craft to open it. Vannevar gave them both a knowing look. It wasn't the first time he had heard them fight and it certainly wasn't the first time he had heard them moan for each other. No matter how much they tried to free themselves, they were caught in the web of the other, always finding their way back to the heat that shimmered between them no matter how long the absence. His expression shifted when he glanced down at where Cele's hand pressed against Drakkar. "Help me get him to his room," she said.

Together, they managed to get Drakkar to his room. A guard had tried to take Celebrian's place only to find himself on the sharp side of her glare that made it clear she had no intention of leaving the Warlord Prince's side anytime soon. It was slow going, but once they finally arrived, she set about preparing what she would need to stitch him up. Vannevar helped as she told him what she needed: a needle and thread, boiling water, fresh bandages, a knife.

Cutting away the old bandages, Cele pulled them away from the would and tossed them aside. She could clean up later. Right now, they needed to get the bleeding to stop. She had watched Kaderian work more times than she could easily count. She used fine stitches, which Cele could do, and a numbing ointment, which Cele didn't have.

Straddling Drakkar's lap in order to get the best angle as well as hold him still, she turned to Vannevar and the guard and said, "Hold him." To Drakkar, she said, "This is going to hurt. Try not to throw me across the room." She held his gaze for just a moment as if there was something else she wanted to say, but didn't. Then she began to work.

Drakkar hated showing weakness. He hated any feeling, any sensation, that made him appear less before others. Twenty centuries of combat and warfare training melded with a Warlord Prince’s inherent drive to kill and destroy demanded that Drakkar be ready to prove himself at all times. Not to the young bucks he defeat without tapping into his well of power, but the older warriors who needed to be reminded from time to time, just why he was the leader of the Blood Seekers. The ones who questioned his dedication to Askavi and his willingness to rebuild everything they’d lost since the Witch’s Purge.

He let Celebrian and Vannevar help him to his room, forcing himself to breath slowly and evenly.

“Damn this wound. The one who did this will pay, Celebrian. I assure you. I know where he’s from. As soon as the pain dulls, I’m going to find him and pull his guts out through his ass.” Drakkar groused, letting them lead him to his room.

“Well, let’s focus on getting you well, Drakkar. You’re no good to anyone while you’re bleeding out.” Vannervar said.

They arrived Drakkar’s room after a few minutes. The space was large, more like a hollowed-out cave, where the sounds of their entry echoed against the walls. Drakkar’s wings twitched once as the chill of the room bit into his skin. It was only now that he realized just how hot the rest of the Eyrie was. Was it always this unseasonably warm?

“Lady Ankhara gave me a salve to use once the wound is cleaned. It’s...it’s on the table.” Drakkar said, attempting to move away from Celebrian and stand on his own. That lasted all of a few seconds before he realized that supporting himself would lead to a short trip to the stone floor if he wasn’t careful. Celebrian got him to the bed and let him lie down. It was the best feeling in the world and Drakkar barely registered when Celebrian straddled him to clean his wound. Vannevar and someone else were moving to hold him down, which was odd, and it showed in the tension that appeared in his shoulders.

“Hm. I remember this position well enough.” he said, his eyes glassy. He just wanted to sleep. A nap would cure his ills. All he needed was a nap…

His roar of pain echoed in the silence of the room.

Drakkar snarled and ice formed on the walls. The wound hurt like hell as Celebrian cleaned it and stitched it up. He cursed her at her, demanding that she just get it done and end his torment. He didn’t recall when the pain dulled, only that he’d passed out at some point. He tasted blood in his mouth. A cursory inspection with his tongue found lacerations on the inside of his cheek where he’d bitten into it.

It was a reassuring sign that Drakkar could still make a pass at her despite his condition. Still, removing the bandages had allowed her to see just how bad it was. She had been right in thinking he had been mad to be up and working. Stupid, stuborn, snarly male.

Her hands, already sticky with his blood, were immediately covered in a fresh wash as she pressed down on the wound to begin the process of stitching him up. He roared in pain and Celebrian set her teeth against each other, tightened down on the muscles of her jaw as she focused on her work, thoroughly ignoring him. She didn't know how Kaderian put up with it. Well, she used a numbing salve. But even then.

Despite her request, Drakkar did his best to try to bodily rip her off of him and throw her across the room. Vannevar and the guard were the only thing that stopped him. It was a blessing when he passed out, one that allowed all three of them to breathe a little easier. With Drakkar unconscious, Vannevar was able to help hand her things, allowing her to clean the wound again and stitch the second half up much neater than the first.

It was while she was making her second pass at the first half that there was a stern and insistent knock on the door. Vannevar had answered it. Her wings twitched when she realized who it was. Illyrian sounded angry to not be allowed admittance, but what else was Vannevar to do? Allow her to come in and find the Warlord Prince of Askavi unconscious while the High Priestess straddled him with crimson soaked up to her wrists? No. That would never do.

The Queen sent away, Celebrian hurried to finish, and rose from the bed, washing her hands in the basin nearby. It took several passes and her skin still looked more rust than gold, but it was the best she could do for the moment. She wrapped the freshly stitched wound in fresh bandages after applying the salve Drakkar had indicated. It was during reaching her arms beneath him to wrap the bandage all the way around him that he came to. By then, they had released the guard.

When Drakkar asked after Illyrian coming to celebrate his demise, the High Priestess and his Second in Command exchanged a look. Celebrian reached for his hand, entwining her fingers once again with his. "Actually, Drakkar, she did come by. But it was while you were unconscious, and..."

The words died on her tongue. Celebrian turned as the door swung open and Illyrian Kriat, Queen of Askavi, stormed into the room.

Was Mother Night truly so cruel as this? Her beloved gone, his murderer standing in his place, her Sister Queen lost. Telling Irinian her father would not return haunted her still. The young Queen was inconsolable, clutching at her mother's hand at every opportunity. It was difficult to manage her own grief while she held space for that of her daughter's. Hardening her heart to all but the child herself seemed the only pathway that did not dip down into the Twisted Kingdom.

It was to Irinian she had been speaking to when one of the guards came to inform her that Drakkar Estaroth had been seen in the halls bleeding heavily. Alarmed, she had left her daughter with Quinian and made her way to Drakkar's rooms, only to be dismissed by his Second in Command. That had incensed her. She had stormed off and returned to her office, asking Quin to please take Irianian for the rest of the day. The girl had cried terribly, ripping open the already frail stitches that held her heart in place. She had hushed her and promised to see her before bed, and allowed Quin to take her away.

The moment she was out of ear shot, Illyrian screamed. With physical force and not a bit of Craft, she shoved every paper, file, and statue off of her desk in a furious sweep of her arms. Her wings flared before snapping shut again with a sharp sound. She stared at everything scattered across the floor before storming from her office and heading right back to Drakkar's room.

This time, she didn't announce herself, simply had the guards open the door before she strode into the room. Her eyes took in the scene. There were bloody bandages on the floor and bloody water in the basin. The High Priestess stood beside his bed, holding his hand, while Vannevar stood on the other side. And between them, Drakkar.

She didn't wait to be acknowledged before she spoke. "I do not appreciate being sent from your room like a child. I rule here, and while I have been forced to accept you ruling at my side, when I show up, I expect you to at least have the decency to see me. You have no issue forcing the same on me."

"Don't yell at him," the Sapphire Priestess snarled.

Ignoring the angered Priestess, ignoring especially the way her fingers were twined with Drakkar's, Illyrian's focus remained on her male. Even the words made her shiver, although she could never quite decide if it was a positive feeling or awful one. "If you're going to walk around the halls of my Eyrie bleeding I at least deserve to know why."

"His stitches tore and his wounds needed tending to," the Priestess snapped, once again answering in Drakkar's place.

"And how exactly did that happen?"

Celebrian Eodan opened her mouth again and the Queen's attention finally tore from Drakkar and sharpened on her. Illyrian's temper soared, landing firmly on the High Priestess before her. The High Priestess, a woman that Drakkar had chosen for the position without bothering to consult her. "Lady Eodan, I have heard rumors of the skill of your tongue. But unless the knife that cut open Prince Estaroth also removed his from his mouth, I would like to hear it from his tongue and not yours."

Each word was sharp enough to flay open skin. Illyrian was used to commanding Eyrien Warriors. She would not yield to a Priestess, no matter what title her former (former?) lover gifted her out of some sense of obligation or hope of getting his cock sucked.

Drakkar passed out from the pain of his wounds aggravated by Celebrian’s assistance. Kaderian was, in fact, better at this by dint of being a Healer. Not for the first time, he wished that she was here. He’d given her another task, but he couldn’t remember what it was. All of his worries and pain disappeared, though, as his mind shut down to spare him his body’s agony. If that had been the end of it, Drakkar would have simply drifted into the blackness of oblivion and risen sometime later, pissed off but otherwise healing.

Instead, he dreamed.

Hardhome, in Fell Valley, loomed in the distance. He’d flown alongside Vannevar and six others in search of Prince Eristovar Errsa’s party, always a step behind. Drakkar wondered if the man was avoiding him. Surely knew he knew that the Blood Seekers were on his trail. Drakkar smirked to himself.

I would not want to run into me, either.

But that was what had happened.

Talking gave way to fighting when the Jhinka attacked. He gave himself over to the ebb and flow of battle, setting up his men to make killing strikes wherever possible while ensuring that the members of the Territory Court survived to answer his questions. Errsa’s would update him on Patrar’s whereabouts. If he did not, Drakkar would march on Gravesend and demand answers.

And then Eristovar was dead, Drakkar’s blade protruding from his chest.

Only Eristrovar Errsa didn’t die.

“She will never forgive you. Not in a year. Not in a thousand years. Not even when you die.

She will hate you until the end of days.”

His eyes snapped open. He asked if Illyrian had been here to celebrate his demise and Celebrian’s tone betrayed her nervousness.

Actually, Drakkar, she did come by. But it was while you were unconscious, and…

The door swung open and Drakkar felt her enter the room. Her scent, faint at first, filled his nostrils. His Queen was demanding answers, wanting to know why he was hurt. Like you fucking care. his mind snarled on instinct. Guilt welled up inside of him for thinking such a cruel thought about her.

His right hand reached toward his wound and Drakkar brought his fist down onto the just bandaged wound hard.

He hissed in pain and rage, feeling his mind clear. Yes. Just what he needed. He took the pain, and the anger it sparked within him, and used it reach for Celebrian’s shoulder. He pulled himself up to a sitting position as Illyrian demanded to hear how he’d come to be bleeding in his rooms. He would not give Illyrian the satisfaction of seeing him unable to stand. Vannervar tried to keep him from standing, but Drakkar shrugged him off, the same as he’d shrug off Celebrian if she tried to stop him.

“You should know, my lady, the males in your Court, save for Prince Yatskaya, are incompetent. Three of them tried to murder me days ago and failed. Two of them are dead. They will be buried in unmarked graves and pissed upon by all of my Blood Seekers before we leave them to rot. Cowards.” Drakkar said, spitting on the floor in disgust.

He stood to his full height, despite the pain in his side, and turned a withering gaze upon Illyrian. He wanted to close the distance between them and wrap his hands around her throat. He wanted to squeeze until the blood vessels in her eyes popped and she clawed at him to beg mercy. Mercy that he wasn’t sure he would grant.

Even now, he could feel her anger and annoyance through their bond. There was something else there, something in her eyes that he didn’t recognize. He wanted to close the distance between them and pull her close.

He wanted to hold her.

“But the one who actually stabbed me? He was part of your Second Circle. The corruption of your court runs deep, Lady Kriat, so we will be rebuilding the Circles with loyal men and women of Askavi. I have names.” Drakkar said.

“Now, if you came to watch me die, I will disappoint you yet again. I went back to work too early and the High Priestess aided me back here, where you've found us. You're clearly upset, though.

Shall we discuss the matter privately?” Drakkar asked, fully expecting the idea of being alone with him to drive her screaming from the room.

Golden eyes latched on to gold with a determination that would not see her back down. The Queen watched as he reached for the High Priestess (and not his Second in Command) to help him rise. Lady Eodan seemed so at ease with his touch. Drakkar had reached for her with such surety, as if he knew beyond all doubt that she would help him when he needed her. Whatever they had been to each other, Celebrian Eodan was not his Queen. And yet he offered her a confidence and trust he had never shown Illyrian.

The Queen inside her snarled, impatient that she had to demand answers of her First Escort. And something else, something that felt possessive and angry, hurt and... No. She would not be jealous of one of Drakkar's conquests. The Blood Seeker had taken from her. She would not allow herself to feel anything toward him but annoyance and anger and yes, the fucking concern that had caused her to come here in the first place.

Temper already frayed, Drakkar's verbal assault on her Court did not ease the swelling storm within her. Poised to reject his entire ridiculous assumption, she was forced to stop her words on her tongue when he said the person responsible was in her Second Circle. He wasn't simply blindly accusing her Court. He knew who to accuse. Breathing solely through her nose, her breasts rose and fell with each furiously captured inhale.

He dared to speak her emotions and cleanly severed the last thread that held her precarious restraint.

"Leave us."

Neither the High Priestess nor his Second made to move for the door. Both turned to seek his approval. Illyrian bared her teeth at them both before backing her voice with enough Craft to echo through the room. "Now!" Lady Eodan pressed herself more fully to his side, rising up to brush a kiss against his cheek. Fury rolled off of Illyrian until the High Priestess finally released the Warlord Prince beside her. Vannevar waited for the nod from his leader before moving. Drakkar granted the silent command and both left without another word, closing the door behind them as they did.

Illyrian's gaze never left Drakkar's. "Has it ever occurred to you that perhaps members of this Court would like to see you dead because you killed a member of their Triangle? That the males have been on edge with Gillian's absence, and then had that made worse by being forced to endure their Queen's grief? What would your men do if you were murdered and your murderer took your place to lead the Blood Seekers? Would they not strike against the usurper?"

Her wings twitched as she held her ground. She wanted to be closer to him, and the very thought enraged her further. Damn him and damn this bond. He would be the end of her before this tragedy played its way even partway through.

Illyrian’s fury both elated Drakkar and tore at his soul in a way he hadn’t expected. Mother Night, she gave a damn about something! She hated Celebrian for being close to him. She hated Vannevar for being a warrior. She hated all of them for tearing down her safe little world and introducing ther and her court to the real world. A world that she couldn’t hide from or ignore for her happy little family. And why should she? Why did Illyrian Kriat deserve happiness when so many of their people had suffered? Why did she deserve to escape unscatched when others had been broken of their Jewels and dreams?

Why did she deserve to keep her family while he Drakkar mourned his own?

When she ordered Celebrian and Vannevar to leave, he was further pleased that they did not immediately follow her command. They looked to him, their Warlord Prince, causing her to lash out. He reached down and squeezed Celebrian’s hip when she kissed him, telling her on a thread that he would be fine. Drakkar didn’t know for certain that his Queen wouldn’t harm him, but there was no sense in telling either of them. Vannevar escorted Celebrian from the room.

Drakkar sat on the bed and watched her, expression both hungry and pained. The rise and fall of her breasts was immediately noticed and noticeable, but Drakkar wondered further about the parts of her body he couldn’t see. He wanted to lie her down beside him and examine every inch of her skin. See the marks that birthing a child had left on her body know that this woman had some kind of strength. He wanted to know that Mother Night had not bound him to a poor Queen.

Well, not as poor as she’d already proven herself to be.

She asked if he understood why people wanted him to die. Drakkar narrowed his eyes.

If I was fool enough to sight-shield myself on a Killing Field without alerting anyone, my men would call me an idiot even as they buried me with honors.

He nearly said it. He nearly loosed a volley that would find the two of them literally at each other’s throats. Drakkar imagined wrapping his hands around Illyrian’s throat and squeezing while she clawed at him. Would she enjoy it more if he was sheathed in her while he did it? His mind and heart recoiled at the idea of harming her. Even while she glared daggers at him, Drakkar merely wanted to rise from the bed, fall to his knees, and wrap his arms around his Queen’s waist.

Drakkar snarled and pushed himself off the bed, stalking toward her. He invaded her space, ignoring the pain in his side.

“I know why they hate me, Illyrian. I know why you hate me. You want me to beg for your forgiveness so that you can withhold it for the rest of our lives.” Drakkar said.

“I won’t beg you. I will never beg the woman who destroyed my family for forgiveness!” Drakkar said, meeting her fury with his own. His wings flared as he stared down at her. If she attacked him, she attacked him. If he died, it was his time.

But he wouldn’t die before she knew why he hated her so. He would not die without making her pay for her sins like he would surely pay for his own.

Drakkar rose from the bed and stalked toward her. Close enough to feel his breath as he spoke, he invaded her space without a thought. Storm clouds streaked with gold rolled through her eyes. Her lip raised, but she managed not to snarl. Had he grabbed her or threatened her physically in some way beyond moving so close to her, she would have bared her teeth, biting and clawing at him until chunks of his skin came away between her teeth and under her nails.

Yet he didn't. His wings flared and hers echoed the gesture, blocking out the rest of the room until there was only her Warlord Prince to focus on. Why did he have to be so horrendously stubborn? And why did she?

Drakkar infuriated her. He caused something ugly and vicious to rise from her depths, spewing venom at him whenever she spoke. He had done something unforgiveable, and yet her soul cried out to release all anger she held and wrap him in her arms. The Queen wanted him to hold her while she mourned for the man that he had killed. The woman couldn't bear the thought. It felt like the deepest betrayal to the memory of her husband.

Mother Night had a sick sense of humor.

Illyrian knew this fight. She had it with her Master of the Guard nearly every time they were alone. It tired her, wore her down, but she endured it from Renvar. Better to have him yelling at her then drowning himself in the bottom of a bottle over the loss of his daughter. She had come here out of concern for Drakkar and now they were right back to all the things she had heard before.

"You and Prince Yatskaya will never cease blaming me for the harm I caused you before I ever met you. Before I even knew you existed, let alone that you were bound to me, I am somehow responsible for everything bad that ever happened to you. I am sorry that you lost your family, but it is not my fault they died under Hayll's hand. I am not to blame for what happened in that Hell forsaken war! I am not some incarnate of Mother Night herself, not an avatar of the Darkness for you to unleash your rage on for what happened."

"The only thing that would be different if I had stayed visible and not protected my people is that they would be dead. I would be dead! But then that would be easier for you and Renvar, wouldn't it? To have simply never met the Queen you were meant to serve. It would have been fine if I was slaughtered because you would have never known me, never had to endure being chained to me like you are. Better a dead Queen who fought than a live one who chose to protect those who were in her charge then." Her wings snapped shut with a sudden decisive movement, leaving her still standing in his shadow, but him no longer darkened by hers.

“You protected those who were in your charge, Illyrian. That is true. I always wondered how you chose whom would be allowed to stay in Gravesend versus whom you turned away. For centuries, I thought it was random. The longer I’m here, though, the more I think to myself that you didn’t choose at all. You probably didn’t even know all of their names.” Drakkar said.

He looked down her, his expression relaxed from the mask of fury he’d worn only moments ago. He was tired. So very tired. He was glad that Illyrian had found her with Celebrian and not Kaderian. He could not imagine the Healer backing down from the Queen, no matter wise it would have been. Then Drakkar would have had to protect his Queen from a woman that he cared deeply for. He sighed.

Be fair to her, Drakkar. Tell her, at least, why you hate her before it poisons everything you could ever be.

“I was outside of Askavi when the Hayllian dogs launched their attack. Prior to that, however, several people came to Gravesend to seek sanctuary from the fighting. Your people came to you for succor. My wife, Carian, was originally from Gravesend. I’m convinced that she thought bringing our daughter, Xanian, here was a good way to keep her safe. I’ll never know.

What I do know, and what I’ve learned from sources over the centuries, is that you accepted hundreds of people to come here to escape the war. There were thousand that need your help, though. Rather than help them, you simply shut the doors and then had your Black Widows hide Gravesend from the world.

Carian and Xanian were among those not fortunate enough to make the cut. They were both murdered by the Hayllains later on.” Drakkar said, staring the Queen down. He turned away from her and went to sit down on the bed once more. His energy was sapped; he remained upright by sheer force of will. He would not show her weakness, not ever, if he could help it.

“You want to know why I hate you? You sentenced my family to death while keeping yours. I despise you for five hundred years before we ever met. You sit in this eyrie with your handpicked people and yet you look down on me. I fought for your freedom. I’ve bled in six territories, put thousand of people to the sword to ensure that Askavi remained free and prosperous.” Drakkar said, staring her down.

“You have your daughter and your life. You took my family from me. And then, just when I would have welcomed death over one more day of life in this hellish world, Mother Night decides that I’ve not suffered enough.

She gave you my leash. You took my family, I took your husband and the father of your daughter. You will never forgive and I cannot forgive you.

If we are not enemies, then what should we be?” he asked, struggling against a wave of dizziness. The room was too hot. Sweat trickled down his spine, between his wings.

He’d spoken his truth, but he felt no lighter. He did not feel unburdened.

"Of course I protected those under my charge! What I don't understand is how everything bad that happened to those not under my charge is somehow my fault." Beneath the anger, beneath the exhaustion of having this same argument again and again lay the fear that truly she had failed. It was not a fear she would acknowledge. She had done what needed to be done. It was in the past. Second guessing herself now would only drive her to madness.

For all their Craft, the actions of the past could not be undone. Her dead husband was proof of that.

Drakkar began to speak then. His tone shifted. Even the intensity of his stance seemed to take on a different meaning. He still loomed over her, too close, his Dark scent swirling around them both. Illyrian wanted to cut him off, shut his mouth and cease his words. She was tired of hearing his excuses.

But these weren't excuses. This was a story she had never heard before. Had she known his wife's name? Or his daughter's? Illyrian had known a Carian long ago. Could it be the same witch Drakkar spoke of now?

His next words caught her off guard. Illyrian's forehead creased, her nose wrinkling with confusion. She wanted to correct him. The doors had not been shut until everyone was safely inside. Those were her orders and her word was law in Gravesend. Something stopped her from snapping back at him. Something quiet whispered through her mind, trailing up her spine and warning her to be still.

The air in the room began to feel thin. He moved away from her and she almost fell forward in an effort to follow, her body lurching forward as her mind raced to understand what he was telling her. One stumbling step was all that got away from her before she steadied herself and stopped, standing quietly while he sat on the bed, the rage drained from him.

"You took my family, I took your husband and the father of your daughter. You will never forgive and I cannot forgive you."

Her throat burned like she had swallowed a hot coal. Parted lips offered no sound. Dark wings spread slowly, not as a threat, simply to offer her balance on feet that suddenly felt terribly unsteady.

Silence stretched between them until finally, finally she shattered it with her voice, soft now in a way he had likely never heard. "Prince, I am deeply sorry for the loss of your family. But I didn't order the gates to be..." Her words trailed off. Recognition flashed across her features. Her hand rose to her mouth in a shocked gesture as memories of that day flooded back to her.

"No," she whispered. "He couldn't have. I told him to keep the gates open. I told him to make sure everyone was granted access." She was no longer even talking to Drakkar, lost in her mind's memories. "He couldn't have."

Illyrian's wings closed slowly as she wrapped her arms around herself tightly. It was a strange moment, the ferocious Queen suddenly seeming small in the way she curled inwards on herself. After a long moment, she raised her eyes to him. "I accept responsibility for what happened to your family. And no. You cannot forgive me."

Five centuries of anger. Five centuries of hatred and recriminations. Five centuries of hating himself, above all others, for not being here to die with his wife and daughter had culminated in this. He’d told Illyrian Kriat, his Queen, of her role in destroying his family and tearing his life to pieces. He wanted to her to hear the truth and fold in upon herself, crumpling under the weight of her guilt. He wanted to hear her make weak excuses before he roared at her to shut her whore mouth and get on her knees where she belonged. Drakkar wanted to call Celebrian back into the room and grant Illyrian her Prince: watching him fuck the High Priestess with all of the fury he wanted to visit on her, knowing that Drakkar would never touch her for as long as they lived.

“No. He couldn’t have. I told him to keep the gates open. I told him to make sure everyone was granted access…”

Drakkar blinked.

“You...you did what?” he asked, confusion furrowing his brow. He told him that she was lying, but even as the thought crossed his mind, the Bond spoke its own truth. Her grief was genuine. Her shock and pain were real. She was still talking, but not to him. Drakkar felt Illyrian reviewing her memories in light of this new information and realizing that she’d never given the order to shut his family out. Eristovar and the people beneath him had done the deed with her word. Maybe even without her knowledge.

Five centuries of hatred for...what?

Was it all for nothing?

“I accept responsibility for what happened to your family.”

Drakkar had waited five centuries to hear those words from Illyrian Kriat. His shoulders slumped. He looked down at the floor, mouth hanging open in shock. She finally said the words he wanted to hear, the ones that he’d dreamed of squeezing from her throat with his bare hands. Once she said them, the pain was supposed to go away. He was supposed to let Carian and Xanian rest, while the Queen of Gravesend lay shattered at his feet.

Only now she stood shattered before him, heartbroken and sick with shame and grief for her husband’s actions, and Drakakr Estaroth felt worse than he ever. He thought losing his Red was pain. He thought the knife would and nearly dying were painful. He thought seeing Carian’s headstone was the deepest knife that his heart could take. He believed that he was immune to pain and suffering after holding little Valar’s tiny, lifeless body in his arms just hours after his birth.

But his Queen was hurting and Drakar couldn’t take it. He couldn't stay here. Not tonight. Maybe not ever again.

The walls were too close. The air felt thin and Drakkar couldn’t breathe, drowning in Illyrian’s pain like the sea. Despite this being his room, Drakkar couldn’t be here with her now. He couldn’t comfort her. Worse, he couldn’t let her comfort him. In that moment, he knew that he would forgive her. It might take a year or a century, but eventually he would bend his knee before Illyrian and forgive her for what she’d done.

He hated it. He hated her for taking away his soul.

He hated himself for being weak enough to need a leash.

“I...we should separate for now. I...I will leave you to your people.” Drakkar said, heading to the door. He would respond of spoken to, but otherwise, he was focused on getting out of that room. If she didn’t stop him, Drakkar would leave Gravesend for a time to collect his thoughts and visit the graves of the people he’d loved most in all the world.

Illyrian had questioned whether anything could transcend the pain of the day Eristovar was ripped away from her. Coming face to face with the man who had taken his life only to learn he was hers had twisted that knife within her so hard she had lost her sense, bashing herself against the stone of the Eyrie.

But this... this was like nothing she had ever felt before.

In her mind, she reached for him, offering him her touch for whatever small amount of calm it could bring him. She spoke soothing words that healed the widening chasm between Warlord Prince and Queen, finally finding the courage to be the Queen he needed her to be. Illyrian managed to achieve what she had never been able to with Renvar, refusing to allow another one of her males to live in pain because of her.

But she did none of this. She felt as he moved by her and she didn't speak, neither calling him back or even acknowledging his assessment that they needed space. He was fleeing. From her. From the pain of the truth he had granted her.

There were no perfect words in that moment. Nothing she could offer him that could soothe the agony that reverberated between them along their bond, so loud it was nearly paralyzing.

Drakkar managed to move, to free them both from the prison that this moment had become. Whatever either had expected from this conversation, it was most certainly not what had come to pass.

Illyrian remained in Drakkar's room for a long time, standing still and quiet as the shadows lengthened throughout the Eyrie. When she finally left, she asked the first servant she saw to ensure that Prince Estaroth's room was cleared completely of her psychic scent in his absence. She didn't know when he would return, but when he did, there would be no trace of his Queen in his room or on his things. She couldn't do anything about the way her scent permeated the rest of the Eyrie, but she could at least offer him her absence in his own space.

Illyrian had thought before that Mother Night had a sick sense of humor. Now she realized just how little she had understood prior about the depths of cruelty this bond would carry for her and Drakkar both.